GenerationX [One]: X5-989
by Icarii Enchantress
Summary: (AU) Dissension at Manticore; Two soldiers in lust; And a soldier playing both sides...


TITLE: X5-989  
SERIES: Generation X  
AUTHOR: Stef  
EMAIL: sgalvin1@hotmail.com  
FEEDBACK: Yes, please, please, please! :)  
ARCHIVE: Fanfic.net, my site, anywhere else, please ask.  
SUMMARY: Dissension at Manticore; Two soldiers in lust; And a soldier playing both sides...  
SPOILERS: Not in this part, but perhaps later on.  
CONTENT/WARNING: Not really.  
RATING: G (I'm pretty sure it's safe)  
DISCLAIMER: Hell, I owned any of the characters of Dark Angel, I'd be very happy. But since I don't, I am content to sit here and make up stories. I don't own anything of any real worth, so it'd be no use suing me.  
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay, one, this is my first DA fic, so it may suck now. Part 2 is already half-written. More regular DA characters will be introduced later on. There are parts when Jazz talks - these can be recognised by the following:  
eg: ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
text  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
Dedicated to everyone who I bug about DA - especially Rachele (who I know I drive insane), to Beni (who claims Jensen), to Loz (my writing buddy), to Kazza (who's never seen an episode of DA), to Danni (who had to put up with Loz, Veg, Beni and I talking about DA at her party), to Veg (who I talked about DA with every Friday morning in Homeroom), to my Dad (for converting me to DA), to Anna (who mumbled something on MSN about DA and I went "what?"), to Liz and Sezza (I'm sorry for the spoilers), and to everyone who was tormented when I talked about it. And to everyone who keeps asking me what happened in the first episode - I don't know. I. Have. Not. Seen. It.  
*Gotta bounce,  
Stef xoxox  
  
%%%%%%%%%%  
Generation X: 1  
X5-989  
by Stef  
%%%%%%%%%%  
  
  
"You know we could get sent to psy ops for this?" a man said to the girl lying to next to him.  
  
She rolled over. "And since when do you care where you get sent, as long as you get free reign?" her blue eyes piercing his own.  
  
"Since I spent six months there," he said forcefully. "It isn't fun there. You'd hate it."  
  
She sat up, looking down at him. "Since when did you care about my well-being?" she mocked. "You're showing your emotions, soldier." She playfully punched his shoulder.  
  
As she did so, he grabbed her wrist. "How the hell you survived the training we went through - and still go through - amazes me. You act more like the people out here, than like the soldier you are."  
  
"That's 'coz I'm one hell of a soldier. They just can't bear to kill me just 'coz I'm a little eccentric." Her tone was playfully cocky - which was her normal day-to-day tone anyway.  
  
He rolled his eyes. "And they thought I would be the one to go mad," he muttered.  
  
She smiled innocently, leaning over to cover his mouth with her own, causing him to be silent. "Admit it - you like me the way I am," she said challenging him.  
  
With fluid movement, he flipped her over. Now laying on top of her, he smiled a cocky smile that challenged her tone. "We're not even meant to know that we're both in Seattle. She'll frown upon us, you know."  
  
"She might frown on you, maybe," she replied raising her eyesbrows. "But she happens to like me. I'm her informant, remember. I tell her everything I see, hear....and perhaps everything that I do."   
  
"Even this?"  
  
"Who knows," she replied, managing to shrug beneath his body. "Maybe she'll get a sick pleasure out of it."  
  
"Or she'll make sure we never work in the same area - or maybe even same country - ever again."  
  
"Tell me," she started, smiling like there's no tomorrow. "How is it that you always come up with the worst possible scenario?"  
  
"I practice," he said, kissing her lips.  
  
With a strength that no man - let alone a woman - could possibly have, she flipped him back onto his back, with her half-laying on him. "You know you love this. Besides, when have you ever been one to follow rules anyway?"  
  
Just then, a mobile rings.  
  
"Damn. Who's is it?"  
  
The girl fumbled with something on the floor. "It's mine, genius. Yours plays some stupid tune. Now, shush, or we'll really be caught." She answers the phone.  
  
The voice on the other end was cold, icy, and devoid of emotion. "State your designation."  
  
"X5-989, ma'am," the girl replied automatically. That was what she was trained to do.  
  
"Has your target been eliminated, 989?"  
  
The guy's eyebrows lift, and his face portrays the look that says "I told you so." He was listening in to the conversation. Extra sensitive hearing was a bitch. She shrugs at him. "Negative. Target has not been home. I'm surveying the area, ma'am, awaiting target's arrival home."  
  
"That's fine, 989. Report when target is eliminated, and return to base," the female voice said, slightly impatient. The line went dead.  
  
"Yeah, nice talking to you, too," 989 said into the dead phone line, sarcasm lingering in her voice. She climbs off the bed, picking up her clothes, while the guy takes in her form. "Stop staring. It's rude," she reprimanded him, walking into ensuite to get changed.  
  
He shrugs. "You didn't seem to think so last night."  
  
She emerges, dressed in an all-black outfit, her light-brown hair pulled back into a pony-tail. "Yeah, well, since you and Renfro seem to both have missions and rules on the brain, I figured I'd high-tail it out of here, before I go nuts," she said, picking up her gun, tucking it in at the back of her belt, covering it with her jacket.  
  
"Damn. And here I thought we were gonna have some fun," he said, getting out of bed, walking towards her. Grabbing her shoulders, he kissed her forcefully, taking her jacket off - well, he tried to.  
  
"Uh-uh, sir," she said breaking free of his grasp. "That's how we ended up here last night. Like you said - we have missions to attend to," she said, re-adjusting her jacket. "See you back at base. Later," she said, opening the door and walking out - only to narrowly avoid knocking over someone.  
  
That 'someone' happened to be a Jam Pony messenger - a dorky-looking guy with dark hair.   
  
"Jam Pony Messenger service. I have a package here for a 'Mister X'," he said, seemingly amused at the name.  
  
989 grabbed the package. "Where do I sign?" she asked.  
  
He looked at her weirdly. "You Mister X?"  
  
She put on her most seductive face. "No, but I can sign for him. He's out cold. We kinda had too much fun last night - and this morning. You don't have to tell your boss that I signed for him, do you?" she smiled winningly.  
  
"No-no, of course not. Sketchy here is always willing to help the ladies." He took her signature and left.   
  
When he was out of sight, she walked back into the room. "You know, 494, this is one habit you ought to kick," she said, dropping the box of cigars onto the bed, and walked back out again.  
  
"They're not for me, you know," he said, rolling over. In his mind he could hear her replying, "That wasn't the habit I was talking about." But that was 989 for you.  
  
%%%%%%  
  
X5-989 stood in a phone booth, waiting while the phone rang.  
  
"Hello?" The male voice was cool and calm.  
  
"Sir, it's me," 989 said, lacking the formality she used with Renfro.   
  
"989?" the voice queried. "Who is your target?"  
  
"Margaret Haroldson. Forty-five year old, female caucasian. Born fifteenth..." 989 started rambling off details.  
  
The voice stopped her. "That's okay, 989. What's her location?"  
  
She remembered the details. "A town house in sector three. Really old place. Doesn't have an exact address. It's easy to spot - practically next door to the north sector checkpoint, sir."  
  
"Very good, very good. And what is your plan?"  
  
"Permission to speak frankly, sir?"  
  
"Granted."  
  
"I've always been a bit of a pyromaniac, sir."  
  
"ETA?"  
  
"On hour, sir."  
  
"Very good, soldier."  
  
"Thank you, sir. See you back at base."  
  
"Yes. Oh, and Jazz..."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Don't get caught out."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
%%%%%%  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
X5-989. That's me. When I was younger, my first team had this thing about names. They named me Jazz. Then in 2009, 12 members of that team escaped. I was especially close with those12. Me and Jace were the only two left. We went through extensive re-programing. I guess some of it worked. Most of it didn't.   
  
After that, no one called me Jazz. Well, almost no one. One other person, besides the occassional reprimand from Jace - that was before she escaped herself. My place at Manticore is very hard to explain. I'm meant to work exclusively for Dr.Renfro. But I'm also meant to work exclusively for the only adult at Manticore that I ever trusted. That sometimes presents a problem, since Renfro and my other boss don't really get along. That's actually a huge understatement.  
  
I'm also not meant to be fraternising with other X5s. But I swear that X5-494 started it - okay, that's a bit childish, but it's the truth.   
  
The only real problem I face is that the world outside of Manticore looks like more fun. But then I lose 494, and more than I could possibly imagine. So much for being one of the best super-soldiers, huh?  
  
So now you know about me -X5-989/Jazz. This is my story...  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
%%%%%%  
  
  
Margaret Haroldson's house was ancient, to say the least. It was ancient before the pulse hit in '09. A house that old would have cost a fortune, especially since it was in almost near-perfect state. You'd have to be very wealthy to own it. And Margaret Haroldson was.   
  
Ms. Haroldson was an ex-employee of Manticore. Therefore, in addition to retirement funds, she was also paid silence-money from Manticore. In essence, money to make her keep her mouth shut. And she had, until one of the escaped X5s contacted her. Then she made an announcement via a newspaper, that discreetly said that she would reveal all unless Manticore paid up. Big time.   
  
Jazz looked the place up and down. 'Not bad,' she thought. 'Could get a whole stack of cash from a place like that.'   
  
She couldn't walk up to the front door and pick the lock - not so close to a checkpoint. But, on second-thoughts, why not. It wasn't exactly like Margaret would be home. Her guy would have made sure of that.  
  
She walked up to the front door, using one of her lock picks discreetly, as she picked the lock. After a few seconds she heard the click, and turned the knob, opening the door. After a cursory look around her, she proceeded through the door.  
  
It took her only a moment to see the dead body of a soldier on the floor in the living room. A few moments after that to see the safe. Smiling, she walked over to it, cautiously. It wasn't necessary, but old habits die hard.  
  
Pressing her ear to the door she started turning the knob until she heard the three distinct clicks. Ah, the wonders of extra-sensitive hearing. The safe door opened, and inside were two envelopes, and a black velvet box. The box contained a silver sapphire necklace, embedded with diamonds. That, she tucked into the inside-pocket of her vest. She opened the smaller of the two envelopes first.  
  
X5-989,  
Let's not be greedy.  
See you at base.  
Enjoy the necklace.  
  
Jazz groaned as she read the words. It was her boss' handwriting. Meaning he'd taken practically everything of any real value. Ripping up the note, she opened the final envelope. It contained $10,000. She sighed as she put that into her other inside-vest pocket.  
  
'Next stop: kitchen,' she thought as she found her way there. After cutting a loose live wire and laying it on the floor next to the stove, she started boiling 4 pots of water. Once they overflowed onto the floor, the boiling water would cause the live wire to start a fire.  
  
She smiled a small satisfactory smile, then made her way out of the house, and her way back to base.  
  
Mission Accomplished. 


End file.
